


Gold

by cellostiel



Series: Cellostiel's Original Works [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, College, F/F, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 23:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13398876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellostiel/pseuds/cellostiel
Summary: Bottles of Corona pile up in our recycle bin. I joke that she has a problem. She jokes back, "Hey, at least I don't day-drink. I'm not that trashy yet."I catch her passed out on the couch at 3pm on a Tuesday. Draping a blanket over her, I dim the lights and leave for work.~A short story about two girls living together in college.





	Gold

She glides across the floor of the club, moving with the music like water moves with the tides. The beat is inside of her, flowing through her. This is where she comes alive. I nurse a soda and watch her. Someone offers to buy me a drink, but I can't take my eyes off her. Her hair seems to glow in the low club lights, a rich, entrancing honey.

She stumbles, and I push away from the bar to collect her. We've had enough fun for one night.

  
  


Bottles of Corona pile up in our recycle bin. I joke that she has a problem. She jokes back, "Hey, at least I don't day-drink. I'm not that trashy yet."

  
  


I catch her passed out on the couch at 3pm on a Tuesday. Draping a blanket over her, I dim the lights and leave for work.

  
  


I don't know how she finds the time for school. I don't even know why she goes in the first place; she lives off her parents' money. The trust fund baby of a Porsche-driving CEO and his plastic trophy wife. I doubt she's worked a day in her life. I doubt she ever will. She shows up to class, though, even if she sleeps through most of it. She'll probably have to retake History 101. Again.

  
  


We make out for the first time in our dorm, after she's had a few. "Look at me," she giggles after, arms looped around my neck. "I'm such a slut. Too bad there's no guys here to appreciate it." I should pull away, get her to sober up so we can talk about this, but I've had a few too, so I lean back in.

  
  


"Beer is gross," she declares, waving a half-empty bottle of Corona. "I like those fruity drinks better. But, y'know, whatever gets you wasted." I smile and nod along, too busy trying to narrow down the shade of green in her eyes to really listen to her words.

  
  


We met at a mixer for new students. She was camped out by the punch bowl (probably spiked, now that I think back), fiddling with one of the jeweled bands wrapped around the cups. She'd taken it off the cup and wrapped it around her wrist, and I thought it made her eyes pop. Liquid courage got me to go up and talk to her.

  
  


We had two classes together, Psych and English 101. We became inseparable. When second year housing came around, she latched onto me and said, "We should totally room together!"

"I'd love to," I said, grinning. "I'm not sure we get to pick, though."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I always get my way."

  
  


"Gold," she whispers to me, close enough I can taste the tequila on her breath. "That's how it feels when you drink enough. Like gold."

I want to kiss her again, so I do. She leans into it, for one, blissful moment, then jerks away.

"I'm gonna puke." she declares, scrambling away. The bathroom door slams behind her.

  
  


"You're such a buzzkill. Lighten up, would you?" She drains her Corona, narrows her eyes at me like she's gauging the distance, the trajectory. It wouldn't be the first time she's thrown something at me. "It's just one, and I've had a long day."

  
  


I have to literally drag her out of bed to get her to her classes now. I don't know what she did before we moved in together. She's dropped the classes that I wasn't around to get her to. As soon as I get up, I start the coffee pot, the promise of caffeine the only thing that'll get her to cooperate in the morning. On days when we don't have class, she just stays in bed all day, sleeping. She'll get up when I order dinner, then try to drag me out to party. Sometimes I say yes, others, I let her go alone and stay up anyway, worrying until she gets home.

  
  


"I don't have a problem!" she screams. I stare at the broken glass at my feet, the beer stain on the wall. She stalks closer, getting up in my face. "Just because you have a stick up your ass and no friends in your life, doesn't mean you get to judge me!"

"You need help." I say.

"I need jack shit." she hisses. "I don't have to listen to you. You're too pretty to be smart."

"We should clean this up before someone gets hurt." I move to slip out between her and the wall, but she grabs me, presses me against it.

"Wait," Her voice is a coo now, and she bats her eyelashes at me. "Don't go. Stay. I don't want you mad at me."

"Kiera-"

She kisses me, and I shut up.

  
  


Whenever she's sober, it's like nothing happened. Neither of us talk about it.

  
  


Third year of college, I end up in the hospital, reeking of Corona as glass is plucked out of my head. I have six stitches. I don't even register what lie I tell them. When I get home, she asks me where I've been. Like she didn't throw a bottle at me and leave me to drag myself to the hospital. "Nowhere," I say, and go to order dinner.

  
  


Beginning of fourth year, I'm offered off-campus housing. She doesn't qualify, still technically in her first year. I hesitate, but I take it. She ends up on my couch half the time anyway. My new roommates don't like her. She starts coming around less and less. I stop going to parties with her.

  
  


"Just admit it, you hate me!" she screams in my face, and I try not to twist my face at the stench of tequila on her breath.

"I just don't feel like partying tonight."

"You never feel like partying! You don't even invite me over anymore! When was the last time we had a girl's night? Just the two of us? Your fucking roommates are always here."

"They live here."

"They get in the way."

"They're my friends."

"Ugh. Whatever. I'll go on my own."

"Kiera-"

She slams the door behind her. I mean to call her the next day, apologize, but I forget.

  
  


I graduate, she doesn't. We run into each other at the reception. "Stay in touch," I say, but neither of us do. I don't hear from her for years, but I do get a call from her mom. I don't visit her in rehab, and I don't pick up the phone when she calls me. She texts me apologies - part of her twelve steps - and I ignore them. I forget about Kiera Rae.

Except I don't.

She was like gold, precious and cool to the touch. But you know what they say about things that glitter.

**Author's Note:**

> don't forget to check out my twitter @cellostiel and my tumblr @cellostielwrites!! <3


End file.
